Every Story is a Love Story
by A Little Pirate At Heart
Summary: When the Straw Hat Pirates stumble across an island where an age-old curse forces them to sing their feelings with show-stopping tunes, trouble doesn't take long to find them when a certain green-haired swordsman meets a rebelious young princess...


Hello there, my wonderful peoples~!

Stini is here, posting another story that has been put up and taken down many times in the past, mostly because I have been unsure of myself. But the story has been eating at me for so very long and now that I have come back from my fanfiction retirement I decided to try once more. This is my romantic ZoroxOC comedy and Broadway tribute 'Every Story is a Love Story'.

Now let me explain: within this story I will be using songs (with some lyric changes to fit the plot, fandom and character) from actual Broadway and off Broadway shows. This is for **parody** and **tribute purposes only**, I own no rights to these songs and nor do I wish to make money from them. At the end of each chapter I will list the songs used, where they are from and who they belong to. And I do encourage readers to listen to the songs sung while reading. But if you don't, oh well.

I hope you enjoy.

Read, review and please be nice.

Critique is welcome, flames will be frowned upon and yes, I do believe I may be breaking some rules with this. No need to remind me. I'm having fun. Report it and take it down if you must.

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**Exposition**

**Every Story is a Love Story**

_Once upon a time—_

_A silly way to begin a story, but when one thinks of the elements written within these pages they may find it all too proper. But, my dear readers, you should know that this is no fairy tale—the kingdom of Lyrical, a land with a reputation of being the Grand Line's living storybook, was once a land of eternal spring. But due to a most mysterious and very irregular cause, those balmy breezes have turned to ice, and the world has become frozen in the colors of autumn._

_This is the story of how it came to be..._

_Long, long ago—no one knows the exact _when_—there were two princes, the sons of a great and powerful king, who once vowed on their father's deathbed that they would rule their precious kingdom side by side. But the vow was a lie. A dark shadow was cast over the land, turning brother on brother. Before the king's body was even in the ground, a terrible war had broken out for the throne. _

_And the country was torn in two._

_It could have been centuries. Maybe even a thousand years had passed. But what is known is that the princes' feud and the feuds of their decedents finally came to a halt when the last of one of the families died. Finally, the kingdom was united under one king. Unfortunately, he would not be the great king the people had hoped for. Instead he was a vicious warlord, ruling the land with a cruel and even twisted manner. But even when the darkness only seemed to become darker, there was a light of hope that came to reveal itself in one of the most unexpected of places..._

_The wicked king had three sons; the youngest of the three was an adventurous lad, naïve to the ways of the world. One day, he had snuck away from the safety of the palace walls and ventured into the ancient forests of his kingdom. _

_Now, any young soul would know that those particular woods were enchanted. They were said to be haunted by a witch. However this only excited the young prince. A witch? Surely to hunt such a terrifying creature would be a worthy, gratifying task. But, alas, the young prince was not the only hunter within this ancient place. When the sun had begun to set and he found himself quite lost, the dangers had made themselves known. Bandits wielding clubs and swords launched their attack out from the shadows of the trees. _

_The young prince had tried to fight back but was struck down by a blow to the head. __Lying there on the ground in such a helpless state, this seemed to be the end of his tale._

_Only... fate had other plans._

_It came as just a voice, at first. It whispered through the trees, carried gently on the air. Then it sang and the wind began to change. A harsh gust blew, knocking the bandits into the air, right off their feet. Frightened, the bandits fled leaving the young prince alone. With his heart racing in horror, the young prince lost consciousness before he could see a cloaked figure step from the brush._

_Days had passed before the young prince woke—when he opened his eyes he found himself safe in a small but simple bed, within a cozy, humble little home carved into a large tree. His wounds were dressed and his strength was returning. But who was his mysterious rescuer?_

_He soon found that he had been saved by the very witch he had set out to hunt. To his surprise, she wasn't the sort of witch he had expected. It is said that she was fair. However it was her voice, her lovely singing that was the sweetest of all things. She sang to him every night. And by her magick and knowledge of the forest, she nursed the young prince back to health. It wasn't long before they formed a friendship; the prince fell deeply, deeply in love. _

_When the time came for the young prince to return home, he asked the fair witch for her hand. _

_Sadly, she refused._

"_If it is my hand you want," said the witch, "then I must know that the love you promise is true. You must show me your heart and only then will I change my answer."_

_The fair witch then sent him on his way, never expecting to see the young prince ever again, never even thinking of how determined he would become to win his chosen bride._

_The young prince returned to the palace, and there was much rejoicing. But he wanted no part in the celebrations. He did not even bother to tend to curious ears with tales of his adventures in the forbidden forests. His fair witch was all he could think of. He spent long, long nights pondering what she wanted from him. How on earth could he show her his heart? Finding an answer was proving to be quite difficult. Then, when he had truly thought of her, the young prince began to get an idea. He loved her grace and her passion for beautiful things, music especially. He remembered her lovely voice and the way she had sung to him during his time recovering in her humble home. Out of the blue, he knew what to do._

_It was a cool spring morning when the witch was paid an unexpected visit. She had heard singing. It was right outside her door. To her surprise the fair witch had open her door to find the young prince standing there. And he was singing—not just any song though. It was a song he had written himself, straight from his own heart. _

_Touched by the young prince's gift, the fair witch found herself shedding a tear. Never had she known such devotion, such passion. So, with a smile, she approached her prince and offered her hand. The two were to be wed._

_Sadly, the story does not end there._

_Disgusted by his youngest son's choice in a bride, the wicked king claimed that the fair witch had placed a spell upon his foolish young son and demanded that she be burned at the stake. With that, fear and an irrational hatred consumed the people's hearts. With no other choice, the lovers fled. Days and nights were spent hunting them until finally the young prince was cornered... alone._

_Mad with their loathing of the supposed wicked witch, the people locked the young prince away. They tortured him, but he wouldn't say a word. He vowed he would protect her. He died for his love. _

_A furious king came to blame the witch for his son's horrible death and gave the command to burn down the ancient forests. Where else would the witch hide? Torches were lit and an angry mob charged for the edge of the woods. They shouted for the witch, demanding that she come out or they would follow through with their king's order. The flames touched the old oaks, but they wouldn't burn. Instead a mighty gale swept over the crowd, blowing the fires out. _

_The witch had appeared. Heartbroken, she had had run from her forest hideaway and threw herself onto the grave of her beloved prince. The people gave her no time to weep for him. They dragged her to the center of town, tied her to a pole and piled up the kindling around her. And they all looked on with cruel smiles as the flames ignited. But the witch did not scream, nor did she beg for her life. She looked over the jeering crowd with an expression that can only be described as serene. As the fire licked and danced around her body she spoke her final words:_

'On this day be known;

All hearts be shown.

All hearts be heard;

As I heard his.

Until that day

When lessons are learned

And when hearts reunite

So this will be

So this is'

_The fire consumed her._

_The winds howled with ferocity unlike the people had ever known. Their horrible sneers were silenced and all gazed around jaw-slackened as their springtime land was overwhelmed with a sudden chill. Leave that had once held a lush and lively green became brown, gold and a dark, dark red—dried and dying they fell from their trees—_

Fabala closed that old storybook, running her hand over the worn cover. She didn't need to finish reading. It was one of those somethings she just knew by heart. After all, it was part of her own history.

"Turnabout's a bitch," she said in a singsong sort of way, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Language, Bala Dear."

Fabala frowned. From her usual perch on the high, sturdy branch of the old oak, she gazed down at the stout woman that sat in the grass below. Like many of her guardians, she was dressed head to toe in pink—the outfit resembled a glittering ball gown with a white scarf covering her head. But the pale rose hue of the dress complimented this woman's deep, dark skin in a way that Fabala truly admired.

"Oh, Maybelle," said Fabala, "Their just words. What harm can they do?" She leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "Bitch, dipshit, mother fucker, ass..."

"Y'know we'll most likely have a word with Marius about that mouth of yours when he returns." Oh, that Maybelle knew how to irk Fabala. She could just imagine the way Maybelle's lips drew together in a devious smile. "You do remember today's the day, right?"

Fabala bit her lip. What a silly question, how could she not remember?

She pressed her back harder against the trunk of the tree, her position becoming slouched. Her hands absently flipping through the pages of that old storybook, she turned the gaze of her light gray eyes to that far horizon. From where she sat, Fabala had the most wonderful view right over the garden walls. The setting sun was creating dazzling reflections on the surface of the sea.

How could she not remember, indeed.

Fabala silently dreaded seeing the _Saint Galinda_ sailing on those waters. The return a Marius meant her planned happily ever after would be set into motion...

"So are you excited, Bala?" asked Maybelle.

"Oh, yeah..." Fabala drawled. "_Real_ excited."

Maybelle knew that tone. She put her book down and glanced up into the branches. "Now, it can't be all that bad."

Fabala grumbled, "Says you," under her breath.

A gentle breeze blew into the garden, stirring her thick raven hair and she tucked those doll-like curls behind her ears. Her other hand pulled that book close to her chest. It was her best friend in this lonely place as well as her greatest enemy—for, unlike most others within the kingdom, her story was connected to the words inking those worn pages in more ways than one. It had been since that stormy night of her birth... when her family vanished in the witching hours.

The end of the story hadn't come yet.

And the end that was expected of her was not the end she wanted. Duty? Screw it.

"If you're still holding out for romances like the one in that old fairytale..."-there was a pause, as if Maybelle was trying to find the right words—"Well, I wouldn't want it."

"It's _romantic_," said Fabala.

"It's a _tragedy_," Maybelle argued. "A tale of two doomed lovers—"

"And how they changed the world, even in the smallest of ways," Fabala was not going to lose this one. They could call her naïve, but she knew far more than they could ever understand.

A long sigh. Had Maybelle laughed a little? "There you go again."

"Well your argument only strengthens my point!"

"Your point?"

The wind began to change, rustling, tugging at the red and browned leaves of the ancient oak. And Fabala breathed in the sweet air deeply. Her ears picked up the slightest sound of music playing. Soft at first. Then louder and louder, an unseen orchestra played a gentle tune.

"That every story is a love story..."

Maybelle only chortled to herself, but Fabala smirked once more, taking her beloved book and tucking it away in a hole carved into the tree's trunk. Then she stood up on her branch, closing her eyes as a strange breeze whirled around her body. She let the magick of her homeland take its hold.

Fabala began to sing:

"_Every story, tale or memoir_

_Every saga or romance_

_Whether truth or fabricated_

_Whether planned or happenstance"_

Her light gray eyes opened once more and she jumped up, taking hold of a branch a little higher up. She hoisted herself higher, climbing into the cover of the vibrantly colored leaves.

"_Whether sweeping through the ages, casting centuries aside_

_Or a hurried, brief recital_

_Just a thirty minute ride"_

Higher and higher, Fabala continued to climb.

"_Whether bright or melancholy_

_Rough and ready_

_Finely spun_

_Whether with a thousand players or a lonely cast of one"_

She was nearing the very top. Soupy rays of yellow light streamed through the thick clusters of leaves that still hung onto the old oak, making the interior appear like fire with all the glowing oranges and yellows. Upper tree limbs creaked but held sturdy under Fabala's weight. All the while, the music continued to play. More and more power came to it as she continued to sing.

"_Every story, new or ancient_

_Bagatelle or work of art_

_All are tales of human failing"_

She pushed through the leaves, finding herself standing at the very top of the tree. The wind blew her black hair wildly as she faced that sinking sun.

"_All are tales of love at heart..."_

Her hand lifted to the center of her chest, gently touching the spot over her own heart. Oh, how she wanted to believe in those words. To hell with those who thought her to be childish for it. Why shouldn't it be true?

Maybelle laughed. "That's a lovely thought."

At least someone agreed.

Still, Fabala pouted. Looking out to the sea only reminded her how little she had in this world. Little choice and little freedom. She longed for adventure. The outside world was always so new and exciting to her. Sadly, what glimpses she could get of it were short. The palace walls closed once more and she was confined to her garden perch.

So unfair—

Fabala blinked. Something had caught her eye.

She leaned forward a bit, squinting for a better look. There was a ship sailing into port. However, it was too small to be the _Saint Galinda_. It looked like a caravel—one that probably had seen better days. Keeping hold of a thin but strong branch, Fabala leaned further out. Something was painted on the main sail. Once she could make out the skull and crossbones, Fabala felt the pace of her heart quicken. _Pirates?_

Then, as if it were some sort of sign, the music suddenly changed. She found her song was not quite over:

"_This is a story of a love that flourished in a time of hate"_

She was stunned, unable to stop the words that lest her mouth. The sudden change in the once gentle tune seemed to startle Maybelle as well. Fabala heard her say, "Bala Dear? Are you alright?"

The song only continued.

"_Of lovers no tyranny could separate"_

Fabala stumbled on the branch, saving herself from a fall by twisting her body and latching onto the trunk. The rough bark ripped her jeans and scraped her boney knee. She kept her eyes on that ship.

"_Love set into motion on the western shore_

_Destiny ignited by an act of war"_

Once she had felt her balance return, Fabala couldn't stop a smile that stretched across her features.

"Fabala?" Maybelle cried.

Fabala wasn't listening. Without a second thought to it, she let herself drop between a space between to branches and landed crouched on a lower, thicker limb.

"_Lyrical saw this ancient wonder as her very heart and soul_

_Way of life to all her people, that only Lyrical could control"_

Down, down and down some more. When she decided she was close enough to the ground, Fabala swung herself off a branch and over that garden wall. She thought she stuck the landing when her feet touched the yellowed grass on that other side, but she fell back onto her butt. That didn't stop Fabala, though. And she didn't look back when she heard Maybelle call her name once more. She shot back to her feet, running, following the ship as it followed the curve of the shore.

"_Destruction of her greatest magick justified"_

Fabala knew at once where that ship was heading. If only she knew the meaning behind her own song. A prophecy? Maybe. Oh, the very thought excited her. Whatever the enchantment of her country was trying to tell her, she knew that ship had something to do with it.

"_Her whole world exploited, left with little more than pride_

_Oh!"_

She stood on the edge of a tall cliff. Her voice carried on the wind, her own music combining with that of another song. That was the way of her world: never-ending music. It had been that way since the witch's spell was cast that day so very long ago. So even though their land seemed to have died, the witch's wind brought a new life to the people of Lyrical. There were no more lies. No more fear. All was seen as the witch had seen. And all was seen... through the song of the heart.

She watched the small caravel sail into the harbor...

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**Songs Used:**

Title: Every Story is a Love Story

From: Aida

Writer(s): Elton John and Tim Rice


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